


Loose Threads

by Miraculous_Content



Series: MC-Lukanette's "No Context" November 2020 [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Crafted Luka Couffaine, Endgame Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, F/M, Unknown Creature Marinette Dupain-Cheng, fairy tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:54:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29917893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miraculous_Content/pseuds/Miraculous_Content
Summary: A Lukanette story written as a fairy tale about a creature who believes in karmic justice and can't help feeling lonely.
Relationships: Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Series: MC-Lukanette's "No Context" November 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2200050
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	Loose Threads

Tourists never understood the villagers’ apprehension to seeing a stray strand of fabric on their clothing. The village was far out of the way of other places, so their traditions and customs never carried so far that people were aware of them.

People who stayed long enough, however, quickly learned and came to believe the tale.

There was a monster somewhere near the town. Not many had ever seen her, but those who did chose not to speak of her, worried of offending and facing the monster’s wrath.

A loose thread on a piece of fabric, however miniscule it seemed, was a sign that they were _chosen._ If they ever found such a thread, they knew that they would receive something within the coming week, but they never knew _exactly_ when it would happen nor _what_ it would be.

For a black-haired boy with blond highlights and an affinity for music, it meant a stylish coating of paint for his worn drumset.

For a blond-haired girl with a high ponytail, it meant the _total destruction_ of her wardrobe.

It was thought to be a magical thread, and the village saw it as a matter of unpredictability. They feared the unknown; feared not knowing what the monster would give next.

They viewed the monster as fickle. They believed that the monster was toying with them, having no pattern to her actions.

The monster, however, was no such person. She merely acted as a creature of karma, punishing those she disliked and blessing those that she adored. She had never given a punishment nor a gift without careful thought in her decision.

Still, the villagers’ views made sense. Good people were too modest to believe that they were being bestowed with gifts in genuine thanks, whereas bad people had egos far too large to consider, even for a moment, that they were being justly punished.

Because of that, the monster continued to be feared. Even good people who had received multiple gifts felt nervous at the sight of a thread hanging off their clothes. People who saw a loose thread on someone else would stay away from that person, as if it was a sickness that they could catch.

The monster, truthfully, didn’t mind. She had never done anything because she wanted to be recognized for it. Rather, she did things because she _wanted to,_ and felt that her skills brought a certain balance to the universe.

That said, the monster was lonely. She wasn’t interested in the company of humans, certain that any human would be ostracized immediately for meeting with her, and animals - while cute and happy to let her clean them and use their fur - couldn’t have meaningful conversations with her. At the prospect of being eternally alone, her heart had been broken repeatedly, and she’d simply sewn it back together each time, all by herself.

One day though, she decided that she’d grown tired of the silence. With a hopeful resolve in her threaded heart, she got to work and gathered the necessary supplies she would need to make someone she could spend time with.

First, a bracelet of chaos, able to withstand her ideas and rambles.

Second, a strip of leather from a rockstar’s jacket, encouraging durability and an openness to be oneself.

Third, a red string of fate. Her own didn’t seem to be connected to anything nor anyone, but she hoped that offering it to her creation would give it some use.

Fourth, a quilt that had been loved and carefully looked after for year after year, made with the softest fabric she could find.

She wanted him to be special; not human, but not like her either. In the unrelenting silence of her home, she forced herself to take her time, knowing that she couldn’t rush such a task. Painstakingly, she thought up design after design, wanting him to surpass _everything_ she’d ever made before.

The time she had spent on design alone outdid the overall time of anything she had ever made before, _tenfold._ Yet, despite it, she was satisfied, content, and finally had a design in mind. With that, she was able to get to work on crafting him, and with a little bit of magic, he was almost complete.

Last but not least, she undid the stitching of the heart that she had mended over and over again, leaving it in two pieces. She gave him half, with a silent promise that she would love him more than anyone else.

And when he finally awoke, love him she did. He spoke in a soft, almost musical voice and had vibrant blue eyes that no amount of paint or color could ever recreate. She had been so determined to finish him and so happy after he’d been completed that she hadn’t even realized how tired she’d gotten during the process.

When her legs gave out from exhaustion, he caught her, holding her with a gentleness that she’d never been treated with before. The leather had made him strong, and he easily carried her off to her makeshift bed to put her to sleep.

Even as the days passed, he didn’t leave, not even once. He remained by her side, eagerly listening as she talked and taught him about the world around them, like her voice was music to his finely-crafted ears. When he gained a fondness for the instruments they’d seen in the village from afar, she made him a lyre, inspired by a teal snake who had passed by her home once. He was elated by the gift, and she realized that it was the first time she had ever been thanked before.

Before long, they were sitting on her chair together, with her in his lap while he filled the room with sweet melodies that, she began to realize, were for her and her alone.

She had only expected a companion. She had never expected to be loved in return.

But love her he did, and she wasn’t lonely anymore.


End file.
